


An improbable love

by slowroad



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowroad/pseuds/slowroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a famous violinist who is going through a bit of a slump. He's lonely and miserable. It has been three years since John was invalided home from Afghanistan. He's slowly getting his life together, but he's lonelier than he's ever been. And then, the the two of them meet…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Wednesday,11th January,2012**

**John**

**John** : 221C, Baker Street, that is going to be my new address. I'm moving on Saturday.

 **Harry** : Baker Street? That's central London. Must be pricey. You must be doing rather well Johnny boy. Need help?

 **John** : Thanks. But I think I can manage. Mike and Molly are coming over to help.

 **Harry** : Okay, good. But Clara and I will come over anyway. It's been too long.

 **John** : That it has. How are you guys doing?

 **Harry** : We're fine. I've been sober for six months now and I think she's starting to trust me again. Thanks.

 **John** : What for?

 **Harry** : For talking her into giving me another chance.

 **John** : Not a big deal.

 **Harry** : So…are you seeing anyone?

 **John** : No.

 **Harry** : What about Molly?

 **John** : Molly? What about her?

 **Harry** : You could ask her out…you seem rather fond of her.

 **John** : I'm very fond of her. But she's just a friend.

 **Harry** : Okay. Remind me. How long has it been since you went out with someone?

 **John** : Honestly, I don't know.

 **Harry** : And you don't think there's anything wrong with that?

 **John** : So I haven't been dating for a while. So what?

 **Harry** : John, you haven't gone out with anyone for a year…ever since you broke up with Mary. I know she hurt you, but come on.

 **John** : You know what, I was angry with her when we broke up, but she was right. I really didn't care about her. I said I did, but didn't mean it…

 **Harry** : What are you saying?

 **John** : I'm saying that I'm tired of this…I meet an attractive woman and I ask her out, we go out on an couple of dates and we get intimate and then after a couple of months it just fizzles out. It's meaningless and stupid. I don't just want to date, Harry. I want to be in a committed relationship… with someone I have real feelings for, someone I connect with. Someone interesting, for goodness sake.

 **Harry** : And how are you going to find that?

 **John** : I have no idea. But I do know that I cannot be in a meaningless relationship again.

 **Harry** : I hate that you're alone Johnny. You deserve better.

 **John** : Since when do  _you_  worry about me :-)

 **Harry** : It's always been the other way around, hasn't it? I know I haven't been much of an elder sister, but I'm trying to do better.

 **John** : Thanks. Well, it's past midnight. So…see you Saturday?

 **Harry** : Sure. Good night.

 **John** : Good night.

John closed the chat box and logged out. He put his laptop away, got up and stretched. It was past twelve and he was rather tired. He looked around the dingy little apartment that he'd been in for over two years now. It really was a bit of a hole.

 _How did I stand this place for so long?_ He thought. But it wasn’t like he’d had a choice. He’d come home wounded from Afghanistan. He’d had a severe shoulder injury, hand tremors and a limp. He hadn’t been able to work at all for the first six months.

It had been a really hard time. His therapist had called it PTSD and she’d said he was just having trouble adjusting to civilian life. But it hadn’t been that. He’d been someone important, someone necessary in the army. He’d come back to London and suddenly it seemed like he didn’t matter anymore.

After a while, his health had improved and he’d started working at a clinic…mostly locum work. It was boring, repetitive work and it hadn't paid well at all. Finally, his shoulder had healed and he'd been able to get back to surgery.

It had been six months now, working as a trauma surgeon, and he was starting to feel like himself again. This was what all his education and training had been for, after all. The job was interesting, it kept him on his toes and it paid rather well. So at long last, it felt like his life was looking up.

 ......................................................

**Wednesday, 11 th January, 2012**

**Sherlock**

**Avery Fisher Hall, New York.**

Another stage, another successful performance…the audience on its feet, clapping and cheering…this is what he lived for, the violin was his life. He lived for the music. So why wasn't he ecstatic? Why did he find it such an effort to smile and wave at the audience? He was so tired. All he wanted was to get back to the relative quiet of his hotel room and just go to sleep.

Finally, it was over. He was off the stage. He went to his dressing room and got changed. There was a knock on the door. It was his manager.

"Ready?" he said.

"Ready for what, Lestrade?" Sherlock didn't bother to hide his irritation.

"Dinner! I told you, you had a dinner party to go to. Don't tell me you forgot."

"I'm not going!"

"You have to. You're the guest of honour."

"Why do you get me into these things? Just make some excuse."

"Sherlock you always do this. It is not nice. You already have a terrible reputation. Why do you insist on making it worse?"

"I don't care what kind of a reputation I have."

"Well, I do, damn it! And you're going to listen to me. Come with me… smile, make some small talk, have a glass of wine…you'll only have to stay for half an hour, I promise."

Sherlock glared at his manager. He really was not in the mood for company and conversation...but then he was never in the mood for anything like that. He’d never been sociable, but over the last few years, he’d grown more and more withdrawn. The only thing that mattered to him was the music. Everything else was detail.

He opened his mouth to protest again, but he decided against it. Lestrade had a certain look in his eyes that told him that it would be futile to argue with the man tonight. So he sighed and gave in.

"Thirty minutes. No more. And you won't try to make me eat."

"Okay fine. Fine. Can we go now?"

 _Boring,_  Sherlock thought, as he looked around him, smiling vaguely when someone came up to him, nodding politely, pretending to be interested in what they were saying. He had his eye on the clock the whole time though. He'd been having a difficult year. He'd been on tour for ten months now, going from hotel to hotel, stage to stage, until it all seemed to blur together.

This had been his life for the last ten years and he had enjoyed it. But now, it felt like something was missing. The music had become more mechanical, less soulful and he wanted to stop. Take a break… _How ironic,_ he thought. Mycroft had been telling him this very thing for years. That he worked too much, pushed himself too hard. That he needed to have a life beyond music. He'd always ignored him, insisting that music was what he lived for.

Well, once this was over, he had a performance in San Francisco on Friday and then he would be free. He had nothing booked, no performances, no recordings for the next two months. He would be free to go back home to London and his quiet little apartment in Baker Street and dear Mrs Hudson…

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Sunday, 15th January, 2012**

**John**

John woke up with a start. It took him a minute to figure out where he was. _My new apartment,_ he thought groggily _._  He'd had a long day and he'd fallen asleep on the couch without realising it. The telly was still on, the remains of his dinner still on the table. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was reaching for the remote when he heard it…the soft strains of the violin.

Someone was playing the violin next door…He turned off the telly and sat back to listen. There was some Schubert and Mendelssohn and a good deal of Bach. The violinist next door…John had concluded by now, that it was a man, though why, he couldn't possibly tell you…seemed rather fond of Bach.

 _He's very, very good_ , thought John as he listened. There was a certain incandescent quality to the music…the violinist wasn't just playing the written score, he was illuminating it, finding hidden meanings and allusions…John felt himself drawn into the music so completely that there was nothing else in that moment...

He realised with some surprise that he had tears in his eyes…it really was that beautiful. It also made him nostalgic, took him back to his childhood and the violin that he had loved so much. It had been a big part of his life then. But with med school and then the army…he'd let it go. He'd packed it up when he left to join the army and that was it.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he realised that his neighbour had moved on to something entirely different. It was a slow, haunting melody…that went back and forth, like the composer was searching for something and not quite finding it. It stopped abruptly and the violinist went back a few bars and played them again, having altered a couple of notes and then he stopped again.

John heard a frustrated sigh and realised that this was an original composition. It seemed that his neighbour had worked it out up to one point and then he couldn't go on, he didn't know how to go on. But he kept trying and he kept getting stuck. And judging from the noises next door (the walls really were thin…Mrs Hudson hadn't been kidding about that) he was getting really angry.

He started as something crashed against the wall in front of him, glass, by the sound of it…he had an inexplicable urge to go next door and talk to the guy and try to get him to calm down. Then he glanced at the clock and realised with a start that it was 5:30 in the morning.

He listened for a little while longer. Things had quietened down next door…so John took himself to bed, his head and heart full of the music that he'd been treated to and a good bit of curiosity about the man next door.

**Sherlock**

San Francisco was not much better than New York had been. He'd gone up on stage and given a performance…it was a very good performance, but he knew that it was far from his best. His best came when he was so involved in the music that he saw nothing in front of him. But now he saw and heard every distracting thing.

He played with his hands, not his heart. His heart it seemed was tired and bored. Getting up on that stage had become a chore. He got through that performance somehow, waiting all the while for it to be over. So he could get off that stage, get on a plane and go home.

He’d been travelling all over America and Canada for the last three months. He would have been the first to admit that they were both beautiful countries. But he missed London and home. He was, for the first time in his life, acutely homesick. He was also tired of being a celebrity.

He wanted to go home and disappear for a couple of months. He'd made Lestrade promise that this time there would be no dinners, no socialising and no delays. He wanted to go straight to the airport after he was done.

So 3:30 on Saturday afternoon and he was home. He greeted Mrs Hudson warmly, heard that a new tenant had moved in next door, accepted her offer of a late lunch and walked into his apartment. Sherlock loved his apartment. It was the only place that said 'home' to him.

He'd been here since he was eighteen, ten years ago now, and for all his fame and money he'd never wanted to live anywhere else. He was really a very simple man. He was uncomfortable with opulence, which was odd considering that he had grown up in a wealthy family and was quite rich himself.

He put away his bags, took a long shower, had the generous lunch that Mrs Hudson brought up for him and fell into bed. He hadn't been sleeping or eating properly for months now. So the combination of being at home, in his own bed, the long shower and the lovely lunch just did him in.

It was past three in the morning when he woke up. He felt rested and at ease. So he did his favourite thing in the world. He picked up his violin and played...all his favourite pieces, mostly Bach. It was exhilarating. So he decided to pick up a piece that he'd been working on for a while.

He played some of it and it seemed to be going well, but he got stuck. He went back and tried again and got stuck again. He rewrote some of it…it didn't help. He sighed in frustration and because he'd never learnt to give up when he was down, he tried again and again.

The music remained stubbornly unresponsive to his attempts to control it. He lost his temper and picked up the vase on the coffee table and flung it at the wall. Then he sat down and hung his head. He hadn't been able to compose for the last six months and it was driving him crazy.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid morning when John woke up. He wandered into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He was surprised to realise that his first coherent thought had been about his mysterious neighbour. In fact, he was still thinking about him…he couldn't help it. That music last night had been magical.

He wanted to meet the man. That should be easy. They were neighbours. All he had to do was go over and knock. But it wasn't that easy. He had no desire to intrude. He didn't know a thing about the man next door, but he knew that it was a man, that he was a loner and that he was at a low point in his life just now.

 _So, not going over…no._ He finished his tea, had some toast, took a shower and got dressed…and he was still thinking about the man and his violin. He was about to leave…he had a lunch date with an old friend from the army…when on impulse, he picked up a piece of paper and wrote a quick note. He shoved it under the door of 221B as he walked past and quickly left the building.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch trying to read and trying not to be bored when he heard a noise at the door and saw the note. He picked it up and opened it.

_I heard you play last night. It was enchanting to say the very least…I don't know when I have heard anything more beautiful. I was tempted to come over and tell you so, but I didn't want to intrude. It seems you are rather fond of Bach…I’m guessing that the logical nature of his music appeals to you. I am a bit more partial to Beethoven myself._

_Of all the wonderful music you played last night, it is the piece at the end that has stuck with me. I realise that it is unfinished and that you're having some trouble with it. I heard you go over it a few times and I get the feeling that you're trying too hard to control the melody. The music wants to fly and you're not letting it. Maybe you should let go and see what happens._

_John Watson._

Sherlock read the note over a few times before he sat down. He found himself rather intrigued by his new neighbour. A man who had managed to praise him and slap him on the wrist in the space of two paragraphs…and now Sherlock wanted to meet him. This was strange in itself, because he usually spent most of his life staying away from people.

He read the note again… _left handed, intelligent, sure of himself, knows something about music, played an instrument perhaps? Lonely?…_ yeah, definitely intrigued. John had clearly gone out, so he would just have to wait for him to come back _._

It was past four when John got back home. He heard the violin as he climbed the stairs. He stopped outside 221B and listened…He'd only intended to stop a minute but he found that he could not move. The music was just too beautiful…the notes rang clear and true and the haunting melody went around itself a couple of times, still searching and then it soared and took his heart with it.

The music stopped...the piece was still unfinished, but it was clearly getting there. John wondered for a minute if he should knock and just say hello, but he hesitated. And then the door opened.

"John, I've been waiting for you." Sherlock said extending his hand.

"Oh my God!" John had never been more surprised in his life. _Sherlock Holmes, Oh my God!_

Sherlock smiled as they shook hands, clearly amused by the look of extreme surprise on John's face.

"Sherlock Holmes." he said.

"Yes. Yes. Of course, I know." _I sound like such an idiot._

“So what did you think?"

"It was fantastic...it's a concerto isn't it? You finished the second movement.”

Sherlock nodded. He looked at the man in front of him with frank curiosity. John looked right back at him with a small smile on his face...Sherlock liked what he saw. A confident bearing, a boyishly handsome face, blond hair that seemed to glow almost, bright blue eyes that were twinkling at him and a general air of warmth and friendliness. _This is a good man_... _he’s decent and trusting, though it is obvious he’s been hurt a few times._

John was surprised by the scrutiny, but he didn’t show it. He was caught by the intensity of Sherlock’s gaze...He took in the man in front of him. He’d seen him on stage and in photographs. He’d thought him handsome, but now he found himself revising that opinion, somewhat. The man in front of him was gorgeous...as breathtakingly beautiful as his music. _This is a very special man...he’s sensitive and passionate, though he tries not to show it._

It was Sherlock who broke the silence. He realised with a start that he’d been staring for a good couple of minutes. "So...do you want to come in?" He said, stepping into the flat.

"Sure." John followed him in.

He looked around. The place was simple, homely and comfortable...none of them words that he would ever have associated with Sherlock Holmes.

"You have a question." said Sherlock as he settled on the couch.

"Yes...I am rather surprised that you choose to live here, Mr Holmes."

"Sherlock, please. I've already gone with John, in case you didn't notice."

John smiled at that, surprised at how comfortable he felt...he'd never been any good at talking to strangers, but Sherlock didn't feel like a stranger... _Now why is that?_ He wondered.

"Well?" he prompted settling into what would very soon become his chair.

“I like it here. It's cosy and warm and then there's Mrs Hudson, who insists that she's my landlady, not my housekeeper...and then behaves like my mum."

John laughed. Mrs Hudson reminded him of his mother as well. He'd only been here a day and a half and already the dear woman had started fussing over him, trying to make sure he was comfortable.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Since I was eighteen...”

“That’s...”

“Ten years now.”

“You must really love this place.”

“I do. It’s the only place that’s ever felt like home.” Sherlock said. There was a touch of bitterness in his voice. John was sure that there was a story there...

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each occupied with his own thoughts. Sherlock was surprised at how comfortable the silence was. With most people silence was awkward and it felt necessary to fill it up...he looked at John who was staring at the violin. Sherlock had left it on the coffee table.

“So, John, you used to play the violin...you were rather fond of it, in fact. Why did you stop?'

"How...how could you possibly know that?" John looked flummoxed.

Sherlock chuckled. "You've been looking at my violin, every other minute...and you seem fascinated by it. I take it you know that it's a Stradivarius. You've never actually seen one before...Most people are drawn to the music. Very few pay attention to the instrument."

"You're right. I started learning when I was ten. It was one of my favourite things in the world, but then I got older and busier...med school is pretty unforgiving, and then I enlisted and a lot of my life just fell away..."

"And then you got injured...left shoulder, is it?"

"Okay, how can you know these things?"

"I don't know...I see. It's obvious in the way you hold yourself. Your shoulder has clearly recovered, but you're still careful with it."

"Right, okay...”

It was clear that John didn't want to talk about it, so Sherlock didn't press. Instead, he picked up his violin and handed it to John.

"Take a look." He said. He was surprised at himself. Normally, he would not let anyone touch his violin...

John took it with an awed smile on his face...it made him look rather boyish...a look that Sherlock noted that he liked very much...

He  held the violin and drew the bow across it, eliciting a few rich, deep notes and then he quietly handed it back to Sherlock.

"Would you play for me?" he asked hesitantly.

"That's all I seem to have done since yesterday."

"Yes. But...I don’t think I can ever get enough of your music.”

Sherlock just looked at him for a moment and then he nodded.  He picked up the violin and walked over to the window. He checked the strings and then he closed his eyes and started playing. He began with Beethoven’s violin romance number one and took it from there.

Sherlock treated him to a whole hour of music…all Beethoven, John noted with some surprise.  He sat there and watched him play…finding it hard to believe that this was actually happening. Sherlock Holmes was playing just for him...it was surreal to say the very least.

John had read a lot about Sherlock over the years. He was famous around the world, considered the best violinist of his generation, a brilliant composer and a very controversial man. He had this reputation of being difficult to work with...he was also known to be very private. He rarely gave interviews, never socialised...

There had been stories of a difficult childhood, drug abuse and a couple of relationships gone wrong...As he sat there watching and listening, John couldn't shake the feeling that he’d had earlier...that  Sherlock was very lonely and just now, rather lost as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock continued to play, switching from Beethoven to Schubert and finishing with Bach _...obviously_...Bach's Partita No 3, a lively little piece and a perfect end to the impromptu performance. He was smiling when he finished _...if ever a man was born to do something...it is this man and this thing,_ thought John.

And he said as much, knowing that Sherlock must be more than used to this kind of praise and therefore surprised to see him flush just a little bit.

"Thank you." Sherlock said sounding a shade formal as he walked over to the coffee table to put the violin away.

He turned around looking a bit uncertain and said, “Tea?”

“Sure.”

He walked into the kitchen and John followed him after a minute. He sat at the kitchen table watching Sherlock put the kettle on and get the cups out and...he couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. Then Sherlock handed him a cup of tea and they started talking.

They talked about music and the army and London and Mrs Hudson...Sherlock was surprised at how easy it was to talk to this man. John couldn’t help but notice how witty and charming Sherlock was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much.

They sat in that kitchen and talked, sharing opinions and bits of each other’s lives and neither noticed that a couple of hours had gone by. John glanced at the clock and he was surprised to see that it was seven thirty almost.

Sherlock saw that glance and looked as if he wanted to say something. But he stopped himself.

“What is it?” John said.

"Would you join me for dinner?" There was the faintest trace of hesitation in his voice as he asked the question, but John caught it. It made him wonder. It seemed that Sherlock wanted to get to know him better.  _Why? What about me, of all people, could interest him?_ He wondered.

"You're the most interesting person I've met in a while John." Sherlock answered the unspoken question.

"And you can read minds." said John with a smile.

"Most people hate that. You don't seem to mind," said Sherlock. "That's another thing that makes you different.

“I’d love to join you for dinner. I don’t know when I last enjoyed anyone’s company so much.”

Sherlock flushed a bit again...John was starting to realise that this amazing man was not very used to receiving compliments...a fact that he could not fathom, but it seemed to be true.

 "Order in or go out?"

"Oh order in. I'm much too comfortable to move right now."

"Italian?"

"Sure."

Sherlock went looking for a menu, borrowed John’s phone (there’s no signal on mine, he said) and ordered. He came back to the table and sat down. He looked at John intently for a couple of minutes. It was the kind of scrutiny that should have made him uncomfortable, but it didn't and John just looked back at him.

"You miss the army, don't you?" Sherlock said, out of the blue.

John was surprised again."It's not something I talk about much...most people cannot understand why I would miss being in the middle of a war. I don't miss the war. But...being there, I was important, what I did was crucial. I was saving lives...it gave me purpose...It's better now that I've gone back to surgery, but the first two years were hard. I was treating people for the flu..." he said.

Sherlock was looking at him with his head tilted to one side, like he was trying to figure him out. John had to wonder how he could see and deduce so much. It seemed that he didn't have to ask questions like a normal person. He just looked at you and knew everything about you.

By the time the food arrived, Sherlock had deduced that John's parents were dead, that he had a sibling (brother, he said) who was a recovering alcoholic, that John hadn't got along well with him, but that things were getting better now and that he was looking for a relationship but hadn't been on a date for a year at least.

John should have been offended at having his life laid bare like this, but he was too surprised and awed to do anything other than look amazed and say so. He did tell Sherlock that he had a sister not a brother...and Sherlock actually looked angry at himself for missing that _...Is this man for real?_  John wondered _._ He had never met anyone who had intrigued and interested him the way that Sherlock did.

Sherlock for his part was surprised...again. He had expected John to be angry or at least irritated at having all the details of his life laid bare, but John had laughed and said it was amazing. Sherlock had been intrigued by the man from the moment he read that note...everything from the manner of expression to the content, had been interesting.

And then he saw him, the warm, kindly face, lined with pain and experience, but still friendly and open...he had taken an almost instant liking to him and here they were, sharing dinner, talking and laughing like old friends.  _Is this man for real?_  Sherlock wondered. He had never met anyone who made him feel so comfortable and relaxed and happy?

...

Several hours later, John lay in bed, his head full of Sherlock. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable with someone, so quickly after meeting them. The dinner had been the excellent, the conversation even better.

 That had gone on until late into the night...it would still be going on if John hadn't remembered his early shift at the hospital and judged it prudent to go to bed. He was in bed, but unable to sleep. His mind was too alert and he had a lot to think about.  _Well, whatever else, I've made a friend today_ , he thought.

Sherlock didn't even try to sleep. He lay on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin, thinking of the wholly unexpected evening he'd had. He’d never been easy around people. He found it hard to make small talk and to be polite and seem interested in what everyone else had to say.

It was even harder to think before he spoke. He hadn't had to do any of that with John. He'd said some outrageous things in the course of the evening and John had laughed and taken it in his stride... _Is this what it feels like when you really connect with someone?_ He was still wondering about that when his long day caught up with him and he fell asleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

John was having a hard day. He'd woken up late, not surprising, considering how long he'd stayed up, first talking with and then thinking about Sherlock. He'd got to the hospital, just in time for his eight 'o' clock surgery. He'd had two back to back operations, and then an emergency right after...so it was four by the time he finally got back to his office. He was hungry and tired and he was now facing a pile of paper work.

He decided that he would go to the cafeteria and get something to eat first. He ran into Mike on the way.

"Going to the cafeteria John?"

"Yeah...for a very late lunch."

"It is tea time for me, mate. I'll join you. "

They made their way into the near empty cafeteria. John got himself a sandwich and a cup of tea. Mike confined himself to the tea though he looked rather wistfully at the cake and the scones.

"I take it you're having a busy day." Mike said as they sat down.

"Three operations...one of then an emergency," John said,

"Ah the exciting life of a surgeon. But then you were always one for excitement."

"What about you?"

"I teach mate, how exciting do you think that is?"

John laughed. "Not exciting maybe, but certainly stressful. I'd go running into a war zone without thinking, but I'd be terrified of walking into a classroom...not if your students are anything like we used to be."

"They're worse, mate. They're a lot worse." Mike said smiling.

John and Mike had been through med school together, they'd known each other for over ten years now. So they fell into conversation like the old friends that they were. They weren't close, not really, but they had shared enough of their lives to always have something to talk about. Besides, it was Mike who had been instrumental in getting John this job at Bart's...something that John would always be grateful for.

He got back to his office and buried himself in the paper work, looking up only when he heard his phone beep _..._.

**When do you get off work? SH**

**How did you get my number? JW**

**I took it when I borrowed your phone last night. SH**

Sherlock was above using emoticons, but John could almost see the smile as he read that message.

**Six thirty. Why? JW**

**I've been working on something. I want to know what you think. SH**

_Really? He wants my opinion of his music. This is surreal, no other word for it. I like it though...I really like it. And honestly, I cannot wait to go home and see him again._

That thought took him entirely by surprise.  _I've known him for just over a day now. How I can already be so fond of him?_ He was still trying to figure that out when his phone beeped again.

**John? SH**

**Sorry. Just got caught up in something. I'd love to hear anything that you've been working on. JW**

**Good. SH**

That sounded like the end of the conversation. There was something else that John wanted to ask...but he hesitated. _I don't want to be presumptuous_ , he thought. He sat there toying with his phone and then he quickly typed a message and sent it, before he could talk himself out of it.

**What about dinner? Take away? JW**

**Of course. I'm in the mood for Thai. SH**

_Of course? So I wasn't the only one who had a very good time yesterday...good... great._

**Okay. I'll pick it up on the way home. JW**

He did. And they had another evening of music and conversation. Sherlock had spent all day working on the final part of the concerto. It was good. But he hadn't finished it yet. And what was done could be better, he thought. John agreed and so they went to work on it...

Sherlock wrote and rewrote the composition. John listened and critiqued. Sherlock had worked with other people before...a certain Victor Trevor came to mind. But it had never been so easy...John was no musician. His knowledge and understanding of music did not come anywhere close to Sherlock's.

But he was very well informed for an amateur. He had an excellent ear for music and he seemed to know almost instinctively what worked and what didn't. And he had no trouble voicing his opinion.

The best thing though, was that he was completely unfazed by Sherlock's behaviour which grew increasingly erratic and irritated when things didn't go right. John just patiently waited it out and then he continued like nothing had happened. Sherlock found it completely disarming...

They kept at it for over three hours...only stopping when John couldn't hold back his yawns and looked in danger of falling asleep on his feet. He was exhausted but he'd had what was probably the best day of his life, so he wasn't complaining.

Sherlock of course, wasn't tired at all. He was overjoyed at being able to compose again. He was a real sight...bright-eyed and literally bursting with energy.  _Just like a child,_ John thought, before he nodded off in his chair again. Sherlock took pity on him this time. He woke him up and led him next door and got him into bed.

He stood there looking at John and he was surprised at the ease with which they had become friends _. I can't believe that I've only known him for less than two days..._ It was a full five minutes before he realised that he had just been standing there and watching John sleep.

Before he realised what he was doing, he reached down and kissed John softly on his forehead...


	6. Chapter 6

The next couple of days were almost exactly the same. They fell into a routine of sorts...John would go to work in the morning, Sherlock would text him through the day. He'd come home and then Sherlock would play for him.

They would talk, have dinner, work on whatever new piece Sherlock was obsessed with...and just be together. Neither of them knew when and how they became a part of each other’s lives...

And then on Friday evening...John was just finishing up at work when his phone beeped as usual.

**Are you ready to leave yet? SH**

**Yes. Ten minutes. JW**

**Good. We're going out tonight. SH**

**Where? JW**

**The Barbican. SH**

**The London Symphony Orchestra? What are they performing? JW**

**Sibelius and Rachmaninoff. SH**

**Didn't you play with them at one time? JW**

**Yes. And then I had a falling out with the conductor. He's an idiot. SH**

**And you are an arrogant git. JW**

**Do you know that you say that fondly? SH**

**Do I now? JW**

**Well, are you leaving or not. SH**

**I am. Stop texting me and I will get done sooner. JW**

**You could always ignore me. SH**

**And risk having you break something? JW**

**John! SH**

**Yes, yes. I did say ten minutes. Now shut up. JW**

...

Sitting in the theatre, John marvelled again at how much his life had changed in the last few days. He used to dread weekends. All that time, watching idiotic shows on the telly, feeling useless and desperately alone. The only alternative being the pub and getting drunk with guys he used to be friends with.

He was listening to the music and watching his friend. Sherlock sat there, all elegance and long legs, fingers tapping unconsciously, totally at peace with himself. And John was overcome by a wave of fondness. It was so intense that it was painful, almost. He had never ever felt this way about anyone before...

He remembered the conversation that he'd had with Harry a few days ago and he realised that the interesting person that he had been looking for, the meaningful relationship that he'd said he wanted was sitting right next to him. He'd been talking of a woman when he'd said that, but looking at the undeniably attractive man next to him, he knew that gender was the least important thing in this equation.

Sherlock had his eyes closed but he knew that John was watching him. He really liked having John's attention.  _And why is that?_ He wondered _. I like that we're friends and that we share a lot of interests, but I love it when he looks at me. It makes me feel warm and happy...and wanted?_

He turned to look at John...he took in the sandy blonde hair, the blue eyes, the frown lines and the laughter lines...and that smile which made his eyes light up and made him look so boyish...and realised with sudden clarity that he was in love.

They went to dinner after that and had a very long, very interesting conversation. They talked about everything other than the one thing they were both thinking about. Being men and being British, they were less than great at dealing with feelings. Neither of them had any idea what to say. Besides, they were both watching each other, wondering if their feelings were returned and coming up unsure.

John knew that Sherlock liked him a lot, but he didn't think it was possible that he could love him.  _He's an incredibly talented man. He's a genius and as if all that was not enough, he's bloody gorgeous. He could have anyone he wanted. I'm just a broken down ex army doctor. Why would he possibly want me?_

Sherlock knew that John considered him a very good friend, that he admired him and found him interesting. But he knew that he was a difficult man to like, let alone love.  _John is a good man. He's nice and friendly and easy to love. Anyone would want him. He could have anyone he wanted. I'm selfish and arrogant...I'm moody and bad tempered. Why would he want to put up with me?_

Also Sherlock knew that John had only ever dated women...he was gay, of course and everyone knew it, but John might just be straight straight...

So they both shoved all those feelings and desires to the back of their minds and pretended that everything was normal...If John had a sudden desire to hold Sherlock's hand as they walked out of the restaurant, he quashed it firmly. If Sherlock wanted to kiss John goodnight, he bit his tongue and turned away.

They both claimed that they wanted to go to bed rather quickly after they got home. John spent hours tossing and turning, trying to sleep. But he couldn't. His head was full of the man next door who it seemed was intent on torturing him. Sherlock was playing the violin...

He started with _Estrellita_ and took it from there...one soulful piece of music after another. Sherlock always played brilliantly, but just now he seemed to be putting everything he had into it. John hadn't heard him play with this much feeling before...it was as if he was laying his soul bare, giving it everything he had.

It was taking all of John's self control to stay put when all he wanted was to go over and snog the man senseless...The music was achingly beautiful,  _just like Sherlock,_  he thought. He saw all of Sherlock's faults, of course, but he also saw beyond them. He knew that underneath all those moods and all that arrogance was a man with the heart of a little boy.

Sherlock was trying to lose himself in music. It was either that or cigarettes. He was a man used to getting what he wanted. And what he very much wanted just now was to wrap himself around a certain John Watson and never let go. But that was not possible so would just have to play until he passed out.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

A week had gone by since that night at the concert and neither of them had been able to say anything yet. John had talked to Harry three times in that week alone. Mycroft had talked at Sherlock every day. Both siblings had only one thing to say…

JUST TELL HIM.

I can't.

Don't be a coward, Sherlock!

John! You're a soldier.

They had been dancing around each other all week and John was sure that he was going to go mad…Every time they were together...and they were together a lot...he couldn’t take his eyes off Sherlock, he had to keep fighting the urge to touch him and he couldn’t sleep at night and...if things continued like this much longer, he might just explode.

Sherlock had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted John...he wanted to hold him and touch him and, well, all he could do was look and not too obviously at that...and he was starting to think that he would die of frustration…In the end it was all very simple.

...

It was Saturday afternoon. John had just got back home from the store. He was on the stairs when he heard it…the violin was making the most awful noises that he had ever heard. Sherlock was clearly in one of his moods and he seemed to be taking it out on his poor instrument.

It made John cringe to hear the Stradivarius being treated like that. He got up the stairs, dumped the groceries and went to his friend. Sherlock was standing at the window, scraping the bow across the strings. He looked lost…and angry.

John put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. Sherlock was surprised…John had never touched him before. He found himself oddly soothed by the contact. He looked at John...at that dear face that he loved so much and he found the noise in his head stilling.

"Stop doing that. It's not nice." John said as he gently took the violin and put it away.

He turned back to Sherlock and said, "What's got into you love?"

The endearment slipped out without his knowledge…He noticed the moment he said it though. Sherlock noticed too. He felt a jolt of pleasure in his heart and his face softened into a smile.  _Love, is it? Well maybe there is some hope._

"Do you know what you just said?" His voice was low and touch amused.

John was starting to get a bit red… _time for JUST TELL HIM, I guess. Harry will be happy._

"You're blushing, John. Are you going to explain?"

John smiled, a small nervous smile, still unsure of how this was going to go...So he tried to stall.

"Do I have to? Can't you just look at me and figure it out?" he said.

"I can and I think I have, but I'd like to hear you say it all the same."

"..."

"John?"

"Okay…I'm trying…this isn't exactly easy and you're not helping at all."

Sherlock bent his head and kissed John lightly on his lips. "Does this help?" John felt like his heart would explode…the way it was thudding in his chest.  _Well, time to man up._

 "I...I think...I’m in love with you." He said tentatively.  

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He just stood there looking at John like he was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. He had wanted this, he had wanted his so very badly...and now he was overwhelmed. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t come.

_I was so sure that I would never find anyone who understood me, who would see past my defences enough to love me. But then how could I have imagined a John Watson...I am an incredibly lucky man._ _He thought._

He didn't trust himself to speak though, at least not yet. So he decided that actions would have to do. He leaned down and pressed his lips to John's once more. And then he kissed him with all the passion that he was capable of. Nothing in John's experience had prepared him for his…it was raw, needy, passionate and bloody brilliant…he was overwhelmed and he felt his knees give out. He only stayed upright because of the pair of strong hands that held him firmly…

They broke apart after a bit, gasping and clinging to each other, happier in that moment than either of them had ever imagined. “I love you so much, you crazy, beautiful, amazing man." John said and he pulled Sherlock down for another kiss. It didn't bother him that Sherlock hadn't said anything yet. He didn't have to. That kiss had told him everything he needed to know _. I am one lucky bastard_ , he thought.

Then Sherlock dragged him over to the couch and made him lie down. Then he lay down with his head on John's chest and stayed like that for a bit. John lay there holding him and stroking his hair as he had been longing to do…those curls were softer than he had imagined. He understood that Sherlock needed a moment...he did too. So he was happy to lie back and hold him.

Sherlock sat up after a bit…he seemed to have composed himself…he kissed John again, softly this time…and said, "I don't deserve you, John. You are much too good for me. But I am nothing if not selfish, so I'm going to take you anyway. I love you."

And then he reached forward and kissed John again...his lips, his jaw, his neck and then his lips again...John felt like he was melting into the couch... _he is insanely good at this_ , he thought. Then Sherlock reached under John's shirt and ran his hands over his chest and John gasped and moaned... _I can’t believe how much I want him._ He thought.

He pulled Sherlock closer and gasped when he felt him undoing his belt. Sherlock stopped abruptly. He pulled back and looked at John, doubt written all over his face. John could only blink in confusion..."What...what happened?"

Sherlock lay down beside him and held him close. "I'm sorry, John. I know you've never been with a man before...I realise that you might want to take it slowly. I just..." he couldn't finish.

John had tensed at the "sorry", but now he smiled. He reached over and brushed Sherlock's hair off his face and he kissed him on his forehead. "That's considerate of you love, but look at me will you? Really look...Do I look like a man who wants to take anything slow?"

Sherlock took in the dishevelled hair, the dilated pupils, the heavy breathing and of course the very noticeable bulge in his trousers and had to admit that John looked very aroused indeed.

"See? This is new for me, sure. But I'm not uncomfortable. Not at all. I could never be, not with you. So will you please stop over thinking this and just give me what I want?"

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

It was morning when John woke up…still early by the look of the sunlight streaming through the window. He blinked a few times before he realised that he was in Sherlock's room. The man himself was lying next to him, flat on his stomach, head turned to the side, his right arm around John, holding him close.

John shifted to look at him…and he felt his heart lurch. He'd never seen Sherlock sleeping before. He looked so at peace, so young and so impossibly beautiful. He felt his heart fill with fondness and he was surprised by the intensity of his feelings.

He had thought himself in love before, but it hadn't been anything like this, not even close. And he knew that whatever it was that was happening between them, it was not casual. He lay back thinking…he'd seen a whole new side to Sherlock last night…he'd been so passionate, all desire and lust and abandon…he'd let John know just how much he wanted him.

John couldn't help but feel privileged. He remembered one particular moment when Sherlock had undressed and was lying stretched out on the bed waiting for him…the sight of that gorgeous body, all that pale skin that seemed to glow almost…he thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

He smiled at the memory as he got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and had a long shower…he was still smiling when he walked back into the room. He pushed the pillows up and sat down looking at Sherlock… _.I could look at him all day,_  he thought…as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair….it was rapidly becoming one of his favourite things to do.

He thought back to last night and he was surprised at himself…his first time with a man, he should have been tentative, unsure…But it hadn't been like that at all. He realised that he hadn't thought of it as sex with a man…it was being with Sherlock which seemed perfectly natural and very, very right.

It was the most amazing sex he'd ever had…he could feel his skin tingle with the memory… and it had been so much more than sex. _It's him or nothing now. I can't imagine being with or wanting anyone else…ever. Does he feel the same way? I am pretty sure I can't live without him anymore._

That thought scared him _…What if he gets bored of me? No matter what he says, I'm ordinary and he's…him. He said he loves me and I know he does but…I want him forever and I need him to feel the same way. Does he? Can he?_

John had slipped out of that happy haze that he'd woken up in, busy as he was with all these questions. He sat there, looking a bit worried when Sherlock stirred and woke up. He saw John and smiled…a warm, lazy, happy smile. That smile went straight to his heart…

Sherlock's first thought on waking was, _it really happened, all of that, I didn't dream it. John is in love with me and he wants me. He's here, with me in my bed…If I can wake up like this every day for the rest of my life, I will have done well._  He pulled John to him and nuzzled into his neck like a happy little puppy.

John lay there running his hand through Sherlock's curls. That smile had lifted his spirits. So he decided that he was being stupid and tried to put his doubts away. Then Sherlock lifted his head and looked at him….John looked back at him, smile firmly in place. But he was afraid Sherlock would see the worry in his eyes and he didn't want to start any serious conversations just now.

"Tea?" he said as he moved to get out of bed.

Sherlock started to say something and then he seemed to change his mind…he smiled and said, "Alright. I'll just go take a shower…" He kissed John lightly on his lips and walked into the bathroom.

John went into the kitchen and put the kettle on and felt his worry return with fresh intensity. He tried to tell himself that he was being stupid. But it didn't help. He made the tea and the toast. Then he went and picked up the newspaper and he was making a genuine attempt to be interested in it, when Sherlock walked in.

He just stood there and looked at John intently. Then he shook his head and smiled. "You are such an idiot" he said fondly. And he pulled John close and proceeded to kiss him thoroughly. It was intense… It was too much…it was sensory overload…John felt his mind go blank and his knees go weak as he clung to Sherlock… _how does he manage to do this to me so easily?_ He wondered vaguely.

Then Sherlock pulled back and said "Does that tell you anything at all? I love you, you idiot and I'm never ever letting you go. Whatever you may think, you are not ordinary…not at all. I could never be bored of you…it's just not possible. So stop worrying about that. If you must worry about something, let it be about the fact that I am very possessive, so I will refuse to share you with anyone…not your sister, not your friends…no one. You belong to me and that's that. I am also very jealous so I will probably be very angry with anyone who seems interested in you. l will insist that you be with me as much as possible...so I will sulk when you go to work…in fact, I don't know how I am ever going to go on tour again. It seems I cannot get enough of you so I will be dragging you off to bed every couple of hours…" And he stopped.

John was laughing…no giggling and it was the most adorable thing Sherlock had ever seen.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

It was a couple of hours later….They were lying in what was quickly becoming their favourite position. John was flat on his back with Sherlock curled up against him, head on his chest, an arm and a leg slung around him. It satisfied Sherlock's possessiveness and John's fondness for playing with his hair.

John picked up his phone and saw that he had seventeen messages from Harry. The first few were variations of "Have you told him yet?" The next few were "Why can't you answer the bloody phone?" And the last one..."All this silence had better be because you're shagging him, John."

John laughed and sent her a quick text confirming her suspicions.

Mycroft had sent one message. "Congratulations little brother. It seems you have finally found a man that is too good for you. I just hope you can hold on to him."

Sherlock snorted and tossed his phone aside.

"John?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you ever been in a long distance relationship?"

"Like ours is going to be in a couple of months?"

"Hmmm…"

"No….are you worrying about that?"

"I do have to get back to touring and performing…I want to, but I hate the thought of being away from you..."

"I know, love. I don't think I could stand to not be with you either…I really don't know what we can do. But that is a month or more in future, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded.

"We'll figure it out. We'll think of something, I promise. There's no way I'm letting you go away for eight months at a time…I don't think I would survive."

Sherlock sat up and looked at him. "I think there is something you should know, John….I'm not very good at relationships. I'm not demonstrative…I love you, but I may not remember to say it as often as I should…I tend to get caught up in work and ignore everything else…I've been accused of being selfish and insensitive…with justice, I'm afraid… and I may not always know the right thing to say and do…and…I don't know how we're going to make this work if we're going to be apart from each other most of the time…" he trailed off frowning.

"Look at me love." John said "I don't know what we're going to do. But we'll figure it out…together. I can't think of anything I wouldn't do to keep you. I'm guessing it's the same for you."

Sherlock nodded. "Well in that case, you have nothing to worry about…as for all the flaws you listed, I know them all and I love you in spite of them. And I have a good number of faults myself…my temper the biggest of them…you haven't seen it yet, but you will and then you may want to run from me, but you will come back…" he finished smiling.

...

**Are you ready to leave? SH**

**Almost. JW**

**How much longer? SH**

**Two minutes. JW**

**I love you. SH**

That made John smile. No matter how many times he heard it, it still made his heart flutter.

**I love you too. JW**

**If you did, you wouldn't still be at the hospital. SH**

**You would be here, letting me hold you and touch you and kiss you senseless. SH**

John felt a shiver go through his body. It was incredible how Sherlock could turn him on with just a look or a word, or in this case a text. Sherlock knew it of course and he used that knowledge quite mercilessly.

**I'm leaving. I'll be home in fifteen minutes. Promise. JW**

**And then you can do all the touching and kissing you want. JW**

**That's too long. I'm already hard, John. SH**

John's breath caught in his throat. His brain blanked out and all he could feel was the white hot flush of desire. Sherlock knew exactly how to make him go crazy with want.

**John? SH**

**Sorry. Blanked out there for a minute. JW**

**Really...I quite like the sound of that. SH**

**You would. You know exactly what you're doing to me. You're a bastard. JW**

**And I'm aching for you. SH**

That made John groan with frustration. Why was the cab taking so bloody long? He could barely sit still.

**I want to feel your under me...I want see you come undone. SH**

**Sherlock you're killing me... JW**

He literally ran up the stairs when he got home. He'd barely stepped in the door, when Sherlock was on him, kissing him fiercely, possessively. John moaned and put his hands around him, only to realise that Sherlock wasn't wearing anything under his dressing gown.

He growled, barely able to contain his desire. He dragged Sherlock into the bedroom and soon they were tangled in the sheets and in each other, lost in a world of their own. They were surprised every time by the intensity of their coupling. It was so much more than sex. It was a desperate desire to be together, to get as close to each other as possible, to become a part of each other...it was unlike anything either of them had ever felt before.

They lay there gasping, floating in a hazy afterglow, trying to breathe properly again. Sherlock was lying with his head buried in John's neck thinking how lucky he was to have this amazing man to share his life with. John held him close thanking whatever Gods there were for not giving him the nice woman that he had once thought he wanted. Sherlock was everything he wanted and needed and everything that he could not have imagined.

They had been together a month now. John still thought it was all a bit surreal. Sherlock was astonished that it had only been a month. How had he ever lived without John? He really had no idea.

It was obvious to everyone who knew them that they belonged together. Mrs Hudson was delighted. She had been hoping for years that Sherlock would find someone. John was, in her opinion, perfect. Just the sort of sensible and steady person that Sherlock needed to ground him.

And it helped that he had a mind of his own. Sherlock could be very aggressive…but John was more than able to stand up to him and she could see that Sherlock respected that.

Harry was overjoyed. She had been surprised to hear that her brother was in love with a man…he had never shown the slightest inclination that way before…but she could see that this was for real and she had done everything she could, to help.

Mycroft expressed himself with all the mellow dignity that defined him, but it was clear that he was extremely happy. For all the animosity with which Sherlock treated him, it was to his brother that he had gone when he needed help and advice.

It had been a wonderful four weeks. Both men had been happier than they had ever been before. But at the back of their minds was the thought of the inevitable separation…two weeks more and Sherlock would go back to work and they would have to learn to be in a long distance relationship.

While they both understood the necessity, neither felt ready for it. Sherlock was torn. He loved performing and after the rest he'd had, he was ready, eager even to get back on stage. But the thought of being away from John even for a day made him feel sick.

John didn't feel any better about it, but he had spent hours working things out with Lestrade so that Sherlock would be away for six months instead of eight. Also Lestrade had managed to schedule things so that as long as Sherlock was in Europe he would come home at least once a week. It was a lot more than they had hoped for…

_But it is not enough,_ Sherlock thought. He wanted John to travel with him and be as much a part of his life as possible. It was selfish of him, he knew, but he couldn't help it. He'd had a life time of feeling unbalanced and out of place.

Lestrade had been the only person other than John who had accepted him but even he didn't understand him. John was the only person who made him feel at home…the only one who had ever thought him perfect as he was.

John made him feel peaceful and happy…he made his mind go quiet. Sherlock had got used to that now and he was loath to give it up even for a few days at a time. He needed John. The thought of leaving was making him acutely unhappy.

He tried to keep it to himself...but John noticed. He knew Sherlock's moods better than anyone. He tried to get him to talk, but Sherlock just smiled and said it was nothing. That smile was forced and John knew that something was definitely wrong...

 He knelt beside Sherlock and kissed him lightly on his forehead. Sherlock turned to him with a small smile and pulled him into a hug. He held him tight...almost as if John might disappear if he didn't...And then John understood.

"It's only for a week at a time...at least for the first three months." He said gently.

"A week is too long John. I'll miss you too much. I don't think I can sleep without you."

"And you won't eat either, without me nagging you."

"That too." Sherlock said with a smile. He ran his thumb over John's lips like he was trying to memorise them. "Do you know how amazing you are?"

"No. But I feel like I must be when you look at me like that."

"John, why does it have to be like this?'

"I don't know love...I wish I could say that it will get easier, but I know it won't."

"What will you do when I'm not here?"

"Get drunk, listen to sad love songs and pass out, I expect."

Sherlock laughed. "You're much too strong for that."

"That's what you think." John said and then he pulled him into a long, lazy kiss. It was love, longing, desire, adoration, everything he didn't have words for. Sherlock was going to leave in a week's time and then they would only see each other for day or two, every few days. John had no clue how he would survive. But it helped to know that Sherlock was as unhappy about it as he was.

 


	10. Chapter 10

It was the night before Sherlock was due to leave. He was going to Vienna first and then to Madrid before he would come home…stay for two days…and then he would leave again, for Paris this time. John had committed the six month long schedule to memory.

They'd just finished dinner and Sherlock and Lestrade were at the kitchen table finalising the details of the first performance. Sherlock had gone into work mode and he was totally focussed. John didn't want to be in the way. So he settled in his armchair in the living room with his book.

He could see Sherlock from where he was sitting and suddenly he didn't look the Sherlock he knew. This was Sherlock the star, Sherlock the performer. He was sitting just a few feet away, but it felt like he was already miles away from him…too far away to reach, impossible to touch.

They had built a cocoon around themselves in the last two months. Suddenly it was gone and John felt like he was an intruder who had stumbled into Sherlock's life by mistake. It hurt to feel like that…he knew it wasn't true, but Sherlock was leaving and John was going to go back to the loneliness that he had come to dread…he was not feeling particularly rational.

He was supposed to be reading. But he just sat there lost in thought, feeling miserable. He looked up after a bit and realised that Sherlock was looking at him intently…he got up and came to John and kissed him, soft, quick and affectionate. He drew back, smiled fondly and said, "Idiot!"

That was one of the many advantages of being with Sherlock. John never had to tell him what he was thinking. Sherlock would just look at him and know.  
…..

The morning came all too soon and Sherlock was gone. John was glad he had barely enough time to get ready for work. It made it easier to ignore the emptiness of the flat. He had a long, busy morning. It was past three when he finally got back to his office. He reached for his phone immediately. He expected one, maybe two texts. Sherlock had sent seven.

I just got off the plane. I miss you. SH

Vienna is beautiful. I want to bring you here some day. SH

I'm at the hotel. It's lovely. I hate it. SH

I love you. SH

I'm at the rehearsal. The orchestra is good. Fewer idiots than usual. SH

I know you're in surgery but I do wish you would reply. SH

I love you. SH

I love you too. More than you know. JW

I've had a very busy morning. I was thinking of you the whole time. JW

I'd love to go to Vienna with you. I have this picture of us walking around the city hand in hand…on vacation, free to do as we please. JW

There's so much I want to do with you, so much of my life I want to share. SH

Someday. JW

Someday sounds like it is just too far away. I don't want to wait until we're old men. SH

You won't have to. I'll make sure of that. JW

I'm selfish enough to ask you to drop everything and just come with me one day. SH

And I'm foolish enough to actually consider it when you do finally ask me. JW

Made for each other then. SH

I'm almost done. I hate the thought of going back to an empty apartment. JW

I get to go back to a lonely hotel room. At least you have Mrs Hudson. SH

True. But I want you. JW

Not as badly as I want you. I don't think I can take six months of this. SH

I know I can't take six months of this. I don't even know how I'll get through tonight. JW

I'm considering early retirement. SH

You're 28. JW

Damn! There's always something. SH

I left something for you in my closet. SH

...

John, you sent me a blank text. SH

Mistake. But it does express how I feel. No idea what to say. How do you do this? How do you know what I want when I haven't said anything about it? JW

I'm looking at it and it is beautiful. I just played it and it sounds amazing. It even has your name on it…in a sweet little boy hand. How old were you when you got this? JW

I was ten. It was my first real violin. SH

I love it...I remember the night I moved in and I heard you play...that was the first time in years that I wanted my violin. I wanted to play again. JW

And to be able to do it on your violin...that is just incredible. Thank you. You are the best, the most thoughtful, the most amazing man in the world. How did I get so lucky? JW

I'm so glad you like it John. I want you to play it. And I want to play with you...I want to make music with you. SH

That was hands down the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. JW

And now it's your turn. I left something for you too. It's hidden in your bags. JW

Don't tell me, I'll find it. SH

John, you amazing, incredible man! I never even thought to want this, but I do, so much. SH

It's like having piece of you with me. And I get to wear them. I love you. SH

You'll actually wear them? JW

This is the part where I would say duh! if I was given to using that kind of language. Of course I will. SH

In fact, I don't think I will ever take them off. You've given me your dog tags, John. I cannot imagine a more personal gift. SH

I want to see you. Skype. Now. JW

John took one look at Sherlock sitting in that far away hotel room, wearing his dog tags and felt a rush of possessiveness in his heart.  _He's mine. I had better ask him to marry me one of these days...how is it possible that no one else has realised how wonderful he is?_

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Morning, John. I'm guessing you're just getting ready for work. SH**

**Yes, love. I leave in five. What does your day look like? JW**

**Breakfast, rehearsal, lunch, rehearsal, tea, concert. SH**

**In a word, busy. I hate that you're performing tonight and I don't get to watch. JW**

**Don't start. I feel like I want to fling something at the wall. SH**

**I know how you feel…I want to kick something real hard. JW**

**London is wet and dull. JW**

**Vienna is sunny and beautiful. I'm sitting at the Cafe Bellaria. Their coffee is superb. SH**

**I'm sitting here and thinking how badly I want you here...SH**

**Lump in my throat. I just got to the hospital. I've got to go. Have a good day love. JW**

**You too. SH**

_Right, so this is how our life is going to be,_ John thought.  _A lot of text and skype, email and calls…not enough being together. I hate it. It's only been a day and I hate it so much and yet somehow we have to make this work._

…

Sherlock finished his coffee and sat there looking around him…Vienna was one of his favourite cities. He loved the people and the architecture and the old world charm of the place. He'd always enjoyed coming here. But now it seemed that unless John was with him, he couldn't really enjoy anything.

_I feel like I've left a piece of my soul behind and I can't function properly without it. Is this what people mean when they say that someone is their soul-mate?_

Sherlock had a bit of time before he had to be at the rehearsal so he walked back to the hotel thinking about John, about this life they were building together, about a future that they hadn't really talked about...

_What do I want? I want to be with John all the time. I want to marry him. I want to travel with him…but his life is in London. And much as I hate it, I know there is no way around that…so we'll just have to make this work._

…

John had a particularly exhausting morning…two complicated and extended operations… finally, he sank into his chair in his office and grabbed his phone.

_Five messages today. I hope we'll always be like this, loving and needing each other so much. I hope all this distance won't lead to us becoming less important in each other's lives and God forbid, not needing each other anymore...painful thought._

**I think I finally understand the meaning of the term soul-mate. SH**

_Right...took my breath away again. You are simply too wonderful for me to deserve you._

**I guess I should be grateful that I found you and not sulk about the fact that you can't be here. SH**

_Is this ever going to get easier?_

**This long distance relationship is hard, but you are more than worth it. SH**

_So are you...sounds like you sat at that cafe and did a lot of thinking, love._

**I really want to make this work, John. I want us to be forever. SH**

**I'm just afraid that physical distance will eventually become emotional distance as well. SH**

_So we're on the same page as usual. You're right. We are soul-mates._

**It won't, love. We won't let it. JW**

**And you're right. This is hard, but very, very much worth it. JW**

**We did say we would do just about anything to make this work. That will always be true. JW**

**We're going to grow old together, and there will be time enough to be together and do all the things we want to. JW**

**It is my job and my life that takes me away. I guess I feel responsible for the distance. SH**

**It is my life that keeps me from going with you. I'm equally responsible. JW**

**This may never get easier to do, but maybe we'll learn to deal with it better. JW**

**Maybe. I really want to try. Neither of us should have to give up anything. SH**

**I really want to try as well, so we're good. JW**

**I'm done for the day. I'm going home to Mrs Hudson, tea and muffins. JW**

**Aren't you lucky! I'm back at the hotel. Got an hour to shower and dress before I have to leave for the concert. SH**

**What are you going to play? JW**

**Schubert, Strauss, Dvorak and Prokofiev. SH**

**I'm jealous of everyone who gets to be there. JW**

**What are you going to wear? JW**

**The usual. SH**

**Your usual is pretty spectacular. I need to see. JW**

**I'll send you a photograph in just a minute. SH**

**You are so very beautiful. Do you know that? That picture made me ache for you. JW**

**John you must not say things like that when I'm so far away. SH**

**This is rather a strange feeling, to have someone care so much about where I am and what I'm doing. It is a very nice feeling as well. SH**

**Can't say I'm used to it either. I honestly used to feel like I was this nameless, faceless nobody, like people couldn't even see me. JW**

**John, don't say things like that either when I'm so far away and I can't even touch you. I wish I could show you how special you are. SH**

**You do that all the time love...JW**

 


	12. Chapter 12

A week had gone by somehow. Sherlock was going to be home the next day. John had spent a lot of this time talking to Mrs Hudson...he learnt more about Sherlock in that week than he had in the previous two months. Sherlock never talked about his past...John had wondered, but he hadn't pried. Mrs Hudson knew everything there was to know about "that boy" as she insisted on calling him.

She seemed keen that John should know everything as well...She told him about his troubled relationship with his parents. They had never paid much attention to him (or Mycroft, for that matter) as a kid. His father had been a diplomat. He'd travelled a lot, been busy all the time. He'd treated his children more as a nuisance than anything else.

His mother had been an artist. She was still rather well known. She lived for her work...so her kids saw too much of their nanny and not enough of their mum. They had really grown up not knowing how to love or what it was to be loved.

Sherlock had quite naturally, grown into a socially awkward teenager. And then he'd met someone...a young man called Jim who happened to be a friend of Mycroft's. Sherlock had been sixteen at the time, just discovering that he was gay. Jim was friendly...and Sherlock had never had friends...he was funny and interesting and very obviously attracted to Sherlock.

Sherlock was flattered...he was young and naive and he soon found himself very much in love. Jim said that he loved him too. They began a relationship that lasted a few months...until Jim decided that he was bored and that he didn't want to hang around with a kid anymore and he left.

Sherlock was heartbroken. He'd tried to talk to him, get him to stay, but Jim made his disinterest obvious. He had used him and now he was done with him. And then his parents found out. His father simply couldn't stomach the fact that his son was gay. He told Sherlock that he was disgusted with him, that he would never accept a queer as his son. His mother just stood by looking hurt and affronted.

So Sherlock had left home at sixteen...he moved in with Mycroft, who had been everything in the world to him then. Mycroft took good care of him. Sherlock's career had just begun to take off and for two years he was very happy...

Then came Victor and a relationship that almost destroyed him...Victor was a pianist. They met on a few occasions and then they started playing together. They performed together several times and then they brought out a couple of very successful albums. They had a happy relationship.

But then Victor started doing drugs and Sherlock followed. In a couple of years he was an addict, blowing away his money and his life on drugs. Mycroft tried to talk to him, persuade him, but Sherlock would not listen. He was too much in love with Victor. Then Mycroft did the only thing left to him. He offered Victor money to get the hell out of Sherlock's life. And Victor, scum that he was, took the money and left.

"He left Sherlock convinced that nobody would ever love him. That's why he thinks you're a miracle, John." Mrs Hudson said. "He knows that Mycroft acted for the best, but he resented him for taking Victor away...for taking the drugs away, for forcing him to clean up... interference, he calls it."

And then came rehab and the painful rebuilding of a life gone all wrong. A good bit of this had been written about or hinted at in newspapers and magazines. John had known that Sherlock hadn't had a particularly happy life, but to have it all spelled out like this, made him hurt...it hurt a lot.

He could not understand how anyone could find Sherlock unlovable. How was it possible that anyone could have him and let him go? The man had so much to give. He was special and precious. He was a man to be loved and cherished.

"He's had very little love in his life, dear. I am so glad he found you." Mrs Hudson said as she wiped away her tears. John stood up and hugged her. "Thank you for telling me, Mrs Hudson. I wanted to know, but I could never have asked him."

John spent a long time in bed that night, thinking about everything that Mrs Hudson had told him. He found that his eyes were often full of tears...he thought about Sherlock and this life that they were creating together and he knew that he would do whatever it took to make Sherlock happy and keep him that way.

He had one last thing to do before he fell asleep. He reached for his phone and typed out a text.

**Thank you for taking care of him. I owe you more than you will ever know. JW**

**I was merely doing my job. You have done as much for your sister. MH**

**It is good to know that I need no longer worry about him. Perhaps I should be the one thanking you. MH**

 


	13. Chapter 13

John had spent a good deal of the past week playing music. He was hesitant and rusty at first, but it seemed that his fingers remembered what to do, even if his mind did not. Sherlock had left him a folder full of sheet music to use. He was looking through it when he found the concerto that he'd helped Sherlock write.

They had written it in the classical concerto form. It had three movements and it was meant to be played by a solo violin and an orchestra...it was the violin against the orchestra...a dialogue between them, as it were.

He was looking through this when he found that Sherlock had written another version of the same concerto. He'd called it  _Cherchez l'amour_ (looking for love) and it was written for two violins...a dialogue between two violins. He was surprised and intrigued. It looked like the same piece, but there were some obvious differences.

All the parts to be played by the second violin were marked J. So that was for him. Good. He started playing...tentatively, at first because he was still getting acquainted with his instrument. He was also feeling his way through the piece which was familiar to his ear but not yet known to his fingers.

It took him three days of playing for a few hours every evening to start getting the hang of it. By the end of the week he was playing it reasonably well...he got the feeling that Sherlock was trying to say something here that wasn't quite there in the original piece that they had written together. But he wouldn't know what it was until the piece was played with two violins as intended.

So he had to wait. He was standing at the window playing his way through the first movement when Sherlock came home. He stood at the door as quietly as he could and listened...John was no musician, but he played with his heart, he was able to give all of himself to the music, to treat is as more than just notes on the page.

Sherlock could hear all the tiny little mistakes, but none of them mattered because the emotion with which John was able to play transcended all such technicalities. Sherlock felt a stirring of pride in his heart...pride that this man belonged to him.

John finished the first movement and turned around. He saw Sherlock and his face literally burst into a sunrise of a smile. He made to put down the violin, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Let's finish this." He said.

"We'll start over. I want to hear this from the beginning." John said as he reached over for a quick kiss.

Sherlock got his violin out and they started. Playing music with someone is always a wonderful experience...the shared love of the music, the sense that you get of creating something beautiful together, the feeding off each other's talent and enthusiasm...

It was a very long time since Sherlock had played with anyone...it was always him and an orchestra now. That was good in its way, but this was fantastic, because this was John. Playing with him was intimate and loving. It was profound, transforming, addictive even.

John hadn't played in a very long time. He had really enjoyed working on this piece and learning all its nuances. But all of that was not a patch on what playing with Sherlock was like. Sherlock was brilliant for starters. Every note that he played rang out clear and true and he seemed to be able to light up the music. Where John had heard beauty before, he now saw incandesance.

To play with him, to share the music with him was an intense and soul searing experience. And the music itself...he found that the music had plenty to say. The first movement was all about Sherlock, his loneliness, his confusion, the sense of a soul adrift and searching for an anchor. This much he had already realised.

The second movement began with the introduction of a new theme, muted and soft at first, but slowly growing in intensity...this was about him...the new theme meeting the old. The two themes danced around each other at first, point and counterpoint and then they combined to form a whole new melody that was tentative at first and then it became stronger, more assured and then it asserted and reasserted itself...

The third movement began with a reiteration of the first theme...but it was lighter now, more cheerful and then the second theme was introduced...it was softer and more gentle and the two of them were played together, and yet they remained distinct...each enhancing the other, but neither taking over...until they melted together and soared...

John had tears in his eyes when they finished...Sherlock looked like he was grappling for control as well. They both put down the violins and embraced. There was nothing passionate about it...all their passion they had just given to the music...it was warm and loving, an acknowledgement of their complete surrender to one another...a silent acceptance of their inability to exist without each other.

 


	14. Chapter 14

They held each other for a while, feeling overwhelmed. And then they drew back and just looked at each other, still unable to say anything. Sherlock brought his hand up to John's face and caressed him gently.

"Do you know how hard it is to believe that you're real? That you love me…you belong to me…but it is true isn't it?" Sherlock said with a touch of wonder in his voice.

"It is, love. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

"But why John?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you love me?"

"Because I do…I heard you playing that first night when I moved in here and your music just spoke to me…it was like I'd found something precious. I lay there in the dark, listening to you and I felt as if I already knew you... And then I heard you throw something at the wall and sigh in frustration and all I wanted was to come here and say or do something to make you feel better…I just knew it from the beginning, love..I knew that we belonged together. That's why it didn't matter even a tiny bit that you're a man and I'm not gay. I should have had some kind of a sexual identity crisis. But I didn't…you and me just felt right."

Sherlock looked thoughtful as he took in all of that and then he bent his head and kissed John…it was slow, gentle and loving…It was an - I love you so much and I never want to let you go-kind of kiss.

Then Sherlock dragged him over to the couch and made him sit down. And he lay down with his head in John's lap, smiling happily as he looked up at his face. _He looks so very young and vulnerable,_ John thought as he stroked his hair.

"I haven't finished answering your question." John said gently.

"Really?"

"Really. I haven't mentioned the fact that you're so beautiful, that I have trouble breathing every time I look at you. You are also very, very sexy. You're smart, funny, interesting and bloody brilliant at everything you do. And you have a very good heart."

Sherlock frowned, particularly at that last statement and said, "You're the only one who's ever thought so…" He sounded a bit disbelieving.

"No one has bothered to get to know you properly, then. Not that either of those bastards could ever understand you." John said…without thinking.

Sherlock's frown deepened and he looked suspicious. He sat up abruptly and said, "You've been talking to Mrs Hudson." He didn't sound at all pleased.

John realised his slip, but there was nothing he could do about it now. So he nodded. Sherlock got up and moved away from him. He looked hurt and confused.

"Why? Why did you have to know?" he asked.

"I didn't ask her anything, love. She wanted to tell me. She thought I should know."

"She thought…It's my life, John. I should tell be the one who tells you about it. Why did you want to know anyway?"

"I've read things about you, love. I was concerned is all."

"Concerned or morbidly curious?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you…So she told me a few things. It's not a big deal. Why are you angry?"

"Those few things, as you call them, are the very things about me that I hoped you would never find out!"

"Why?"

"Because I wish I hadn't done any of those things. Because I'm ashamed of them. Because I've spent the last five years trying to erase all traces of the man who was so naive, stupid, weak, foolish and…" he trailed off, no longer able to control the tremor in his voice.

He stood there in the middle of the living room, running his hands agitatedly through his hair, looking every inch the lost little boy, that he was.

John went to him and turned him around to face him. "Look at me, love." John said gently. Sherlock kept his eyes stubbornly on the floor.

"You think knowing all that will make me lose my respect for you. That I will love you less…you have to be out of your mind."

Sherlock looked up at that…"Sherlock, you were a kid. We all do stupid things when we're young. God knows, I've had my share of foolishness."

John had his hands on Sherlock's face and he gently ran his fingers across his cheeks. "I love you…and that means I love all of you, good, bad and stupid. I know you were once a drug addict. The very thought makes me feel sick."

Sherlock flinched at that. But John didn't let go. "Not for the reason you think. It makes me feel sick because I cannot bear the thought of you being hurt in any way. I know about Jim and Victor and you know what? They were both utter bastards. Selfish pricks who didn't deserve you at all. None of it was your fault."

Sherlock still looked confused. But he was no longer angry. He looked at John intently, trying to see the truth of those words in his eyes. John looked back at him, his blue eyes full of love and acceptance that Sherlock could not doubt even if he wanted to.

"You really mean all of that." Sherlock said.

"Yes I do. I love you, you idiot and nothing and no one will ever change that. Now shut up and kiss me."

And so he did. It was soft and slow, gentle and loving...He put his arms around John and pulled him close. John's put one hand in Sherlock's hair and rested the other on his arm. They stood there lost in each other and slowly the kiss got more heated and soon their hands were all over each other, their breathing ragged...

"John...too many clothes..."

John nodded as he quickly took off his shirt. "Bedroom..." he gasped as he dragged Sherlock along and pushed him into bed. It had only been a week but it felt like a lot longer. They were both desperate to touch and be touched...hungry for each other, all too aware that this time together was for a very short couple of days...

 


	15. Chapter 15

They lay in bed sated and spent, still clinging to each other...trying to hold on to this brief time when everything was perfect. John was lying on his back with Sherlock curled up against him. Sherlock nuzzled against his neck and then he propped himself up to look at his partner...he ran an appreciative eye over his body, noting with a smirk, the slight flush that crept up on John's face.

Sherlock loved that he could make John blush like that just by looking at him...John hated it, he tried very hard not to blush, but it was difficult, considering just how lascivious and downright predatory Sherlock could be when he raked his eyes over him like that.

"Do you know how very seductive you are?" Sherlock said.

"I believe you've just spent the better part of an hour telling me that." John replied with a laugh as he raised his hand and gently rubbed his dog tags. Sherlock was still wearing them.

"Do you know what a turn on it is to see you wearing these?" He said

"Is that your possessiveness talking Captain? I thought that was my area."

"Oh I'm possessive alright. I'm just better at hiding it..." He ran his hand lightly over Sherlock's neck and then down to his chest to rest once more on his dog tags. "This says to me, more clearly than anything else that you belong to me."

Sherlock smiled in response and stayed there looking intently at John. "I knew it from the beginning too." He said after a bit. It took John a moment to figure out what he meant.

"Really?" he said then.

"Yes. That note you wrote...it intrigued me. It made me want to meet you. And then I saw you and I can't really explain this, but it felt like I already knew you, like I'd known you forever. I couldn't understand it. That's why I invited you in and asked you to stay for dinner and..."

"I saw you and I thought, there you are." John said. "It was the strangest feeling."

...

Two days were never going to be enough. It was time for Sherlock to leave again and somehow this time, it felt worse. It was quickly becoming clear that they could not keep doing this.  _We might make it through the next six months, but I honestly don't see how we'll do this year after year_. John thought as he watched his partner leave. Another week with nothing but the violin and Mrs Hudson to keep him company.

Sherlock left for Paris feeling like his heart was going to break. He had to stop and wonder why he was doing this even. Music had once been his whole life but now nothing was more important than John. Nothing was worth this cruel separation every few days. He didn't want to do this anymore...but just now he had to. He had made commitments and he had to keep them.

...

Sherlock texted John several times that day, very much as usual, but the texts were getting increasingly gloomy. John tried to cheer him up, he tried to make him laugh, but nothing seemed to work. The week went by and Sherlock was back home again. John was waiting, as usual.

This time Sherlock didn't say anything at all. He walked in, drew John to him and held him tight. Then he kissed him and then he kissed him some more. It was almost like he needed to reassure himself that John was still here and that he loved him, would love him always.

John knew what Sherlock needed so he just stood there letting his partner take what he wanted. They ended up in bed soon after. Sherlock made love that night with the kind of neediness that he had never shown before. It was clear that this distance and being apart were really messing with him, which considering his past, is not all that surprising, John thought as he lay back and let Sherlock kiss, lick and taste every bit of him, again and again.

...

Four months went by somehow. They were the hardest four months of John's life. He found himself wondering what was really important in his life, questioning his motives like he never had before. Harry began calling every other day. She'd noticed that her brother was starting to get depressed every time Sherlock left.

They were talking one day when she asked him if he would ever consider giving up his job, his life as he knew it just so he could be with Sherlock.

"No." he said, "I want to be with him, but giving up my job would mean that I would be dependent on him and I would hate that. I am my own man, Harry and I will always be."

"It doesn't have to mean that you'll be dependent on him. Maybe there is something else you could do with your life. Have you ever considered that?"

"I'm a doctor, Harry. That is what I do."

"Exactly, John. That is what you do. It's not what you are. You can be something else...Think about it John. Are your job and your so called independence worth your happiness?"

"I understand what you're saying Harry, but being a doctor is important to me. I've worked very hard for this."

"I know, John. But I also know that you are miserable. You've found the love of your life and yet you are acutely unhappy. And so is he. It's been four months now, you have another two to get through. And then what? Together for two months and the shit starts all over again. Are you honestly telling me that you can do this year after year and not end up tearing yourself apart? Besides, you can share his life. You love music and travelling...All I want is for you to be happy. And you're not...so think about what I'm saying.

John spent a long time that night thinking about what Harry had said. He wanted Sherlock, he also wanted his job. It was an awful choice to have to make...They had known that they would be in a long distance relationship. They had expected it to be hard. But he couldn't deny that they had perhaps hoped that it would get easier to deal with...

It was not getting easier...at all. Sherlock was almost continually depressed. John was too...but he hid it better. They still texted and talked every day, but not as much as they used to. This was not because they were growing apart as they had feared, but text and calls were such an inadequate substitute for being with each other.

Sometimes they would call each other and just hold the line, not say anything at all. What do you say when you miss your partner so much that it is painful to breathe? When all you want to hold him close...no amount of talking is a substitute for that.

He was still lost in thought when his phone rang. He grabbed it, assuming that it was Sherlock...it was Lestrade. John felt the beginnings of panic. Why was Greg calling him?

"Hello."

"John, can you talk?"

"What happened? Is Sherlock alright?"

"Yes, but I'm worried about him. He's been absolutely quiet for the last two days. He's not eating or sleeping...he just sits in the hotel room staring at the wall and John...I just caught him smoking."

John felt his heart sinking with every word...He had known that Sherlock was getting more and more depressed, but he was smoking? He'd quit years ago and he'd been fine...but clearly, the stress of their situation was getting to him.

"Did you say anything to him?" John said.

"I tried. But it was clear that he wasn't listening to me, so I shut up. Maybe you should talk to him."

"I will, but the smoking isn't really what you're worried about is it?"

"No. But this is how it starts..."

"You think he'll turn to the drugs next..." John said as he felt his heart clench. He was scared now...It was clear that Sherlock was not able to cope with the separation in any way at all and it was getting worse every day. What if he turned to his other addiction?

John was starting to wonder if keeping his job and his independence was worth the risk of losing the man he loved, the man he knew he could not live without. Maybe Harry had a point. Maybe there was a different life for him out there, if he would only consider it.

 


	16. Chapter 16

It was a week later. John hadn’t yet been able to bring up the smoking with Sherlock. He tried every time they talked. But Sherlock sounded so miserable most of the time that John wasn’t able to talk about it... _He’s miserable enough already. I don’t want to stress him out further,_ he thought.

Sherlock came home two days later. He walked in and he quietly dragged John off to bed. He lay down next to him, held him close and drifted off to sleep. He woke up several hours later. John looked up at him and smiled. “Hello, love. Feeling better?”

Sherlock smiled back as he stretched. “I only sleep that well when you’re around.”

“Hungry?”

“Not yet, but I will be.”

“Want to go out?”

“Sure. What do you have in mind?”

“Angelo’s?”

“Ah the scene of our first date...”

“We weren’t dating then.”

“No. But I took you to a concert and then I treated you to dinner. Sounds like a date to me.”

“Hmmm...true. Shall we go then?”

“I’ll just take a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

Sherlock got out of the shower to find his clothes laid out for him. He saw the purple shirt and smiled. “You really like this shirt...” He said.

“No. I like you in that shirt. I love the way that colour looks on your skin, I love that it is tight and that it frames your figure perfectly. I love the way it shows off your eyes...You look good in everything, but that shirt makes you look ethereal and it gives me such a kick to know that you belong to me...”

Sherlock had been smiling through all that. He was positively glowing now. “Well in that case, I should have a say in what you wear as well.”

“Okay.”

Sherlock finished dressing and then he went looking for his bags. He came back with a package and tossed it to John.

John raised his eyebrows and then he tore the package open. It was a pair of black trousers, a dark blue shirt and a black suit jacket.

“This is...gorgeous. Thank you.” He said.

“I picked it up in Milan. I think that shirt in particular will look very good on you. Wear it, so I can ogle you properly. “

John did. He looked up at Sherlock waiting for the verdict. He was not used to wearing clothes like these. Sherlock just stared at him for a couple of minutes...

“You have no clue do you?” He said finally.

“No clue about what?”

Sherlock was still staring at him. “I ‘m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you...” He commented as he looked John up and down, smirking when he saw that familiar blush appear on John’s face. He walked up to him and pulled him into a long kiss. “I missed you so much. I can’t wait for this to end...”

“Me neither.”

They had a wonderful dinner and they ended up spending the next two days in bed. Neither of them mentioned how difficult the time apart had been. They were both anxious about the coming separation but neither mentioned it. They had perfected the art of pretending that everything was alright when they were together.  

And then Sherlock had to go away again. He was going to be on a tour of America and Canada. He would be away for a month and a half almost...they had so far never been apart for more than a week at a time and that had been hard enough. This would be awful and they were not looking forward to it at all. But Sherlock had to go and John had to stay....

....

Sherlock was in New York...it was over two weeks since he’d left London and John. It was the longest they had been apart so far and the strain was telling on them. Sherlock grew quieter and quieter, to the point where he didn’t seem to have anything to say to John other than “I miss you.”

John got more and more depressed. Every day seemed to drag on forever. He stopped going to the pub with his friends. He would’ve kept away from Harry too, but she didn’t let him. He tried to be as cheerful as possible when he spoke to Sherlock...but it was getting harder to do...

And then John got the call that he had been dreading.

Lestrade called to tell him that Sherlock had used again...after being clean for five years.  Sherlock was lying unconscious in a hotel room...that image shook John to his core and he knew in that moment that nothing was more important than Sherlock, nothing at all. He had said it before, but now he decided to act on it, to prove it to himself.

John had never hated himself as much as he did at that moment. "Will you come?" Lestrade had asked him. It was never in question. John asked him to make the travel arrangements and prepared to leave immediately.

About twenty hours later, He was in that hotel room with Sherlock in his arms. Sherlock was awake now and feeling better...but he was heartily ashamed of himself and he apologised to John again and again...he looked so miserable and contrite that John thought his heart would break.

He pulled Sherlock to him and held him tight. "You have to stop apologising, love. I wish you hadn't done this. But I'm not angry with you. I'm upset with myself. I was afraid of this and yet I did nothing. What the hell was I doing so far away when you were breaking...Why didn't you just tell me?" he said, looking anguished and heartbroken.

"I couldn't...I didn't want to make you feel like you had to sacrifice anything for me."

"It would not be a sacrifice. Nothing in this world is as important as you...nothing at all. I have just lived through the hardest five months of my life and I never want to have to do that again. I never ever want to be away from you again...not even for a day. Not if I can help it."

Sherlock looked like he could not believe what he was hearing. "I thought...I thought you would be angry with me. I thought you would hate me for what I did. I thought you would never want to see me again..."

"If I never saw you again, I would just die and I'm not suicidal.' John said.

Sherlock was too overwhelmed to know what to say to that. So he put his arms around the man he loved and buried his head in his neck and held on for dear life.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock looked up after a while...

"It's true for me too you know." he said in a small voice. "You're everything to me. Nothing in the world is more important. I've spent the last few months wondering why I'm doing this. I used to love my work, but it doesn't matter anymore. Not if it means I have to be away from you all the time…I'm so very sorry for what I did, John. It was weak and stupid. I keep saying that I don't deserve you and you keep proving me right...You really are too good to me."

He sat there staring at the floor looking miserable. John tilted his head up and kissed him lightly. "It's over, love. You slipped up, but you did it because you were struggling. It's really okay. I need you to stop dwelling on that. I'm here now and I'm staying...as in I'm not leaving you alone ever again."

"You would give up everything for me, just like that?"

"Honestly, I don't feel like I'm giving up anything. Not anymore. Harry asked me a few months ago if I would ever consider doing this and I said no. I said that I am my own man and I need to have a life and an identity of my own. But it's been very obvious these past few months that I stopped being my own man a while ago…pretty much since I fell in love with you."

"We're neither of us the people we were, love. We're two halves of a whole now. Being away from each other is not an option….we've tried it and clearly it's not something we can do. And the way I see it, I can share your life and your music. I can be a part of it in a way that you can't share mine. So that's it. Simple really."

Sherlock sat there looking at John intently…searching for the truth of those words. John seemed sincere enough, but he had to be sure. He didn't want John to make any decisions that he would regret later.

"It's really not that simple, John. You're here...willing to do what very few men would be ready to do. And all for me…"

"Very few men have what I have, I guess." John said softly as he held Sherlock close to him, thinking how very precious he was.

"And don't thank me. I'm not doing this for you alone. There's a significant amount of selfishness involved…Before I met you, I had my work and my friends, but my life was empty. It was bland and boring. It was so very lonely. It's a feeling that I've come to dread. It's a feeling that comes back every time you leave. And I've had enough of it to last me a lifetime."

"I want to believe you, John. I do. But being a doctor is important to you. You've worked very hard for it. You shouldn't just give it up."

"It hasn't been an easy decision, love. I've been agonising over it for the last four months. But I haven't had any joy in my work lately. I've been too unhappy without you. And now I'm worried about you. How can I possibly leave you here and go back?"

Sherlock looked guilty again. "So what will you do now?"

"I don't know. But I'm sure I can find something else to do with my life."

"I can take care of you, you know." Sherlock said hesitantly. He didn't want to bring up sordid things like money but he wanted to give John the assurance that he wouldn't have to worry about things like that...without hurting his pride.

John laughed. "I bloody well expect you to."

Sherlock was relieved. "So all this horrible not having you with me is over?"

"Yes, yes it's over." John said with a smile.  _He's like a child,_  he thought _. And he needs looking after. I love him so much that I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life doing just that._

They were both happy. They were also exhausted. The events and emotions of the past several hours had left them feeling drained. They lay in bed holding each other and thinking, getting used to this new and much better reality…and then they fell asleep…

…..

It was the afternoon of the next day. Sherlock had just come back from the rehearsal…he'd asked John to go with him. But John had refused saying that he was tired. He was. But he had another reason for not going. He was not yet ready for all the questions that his presence would inevitably bring up. And wasn't sure that Sherlock was ready either.

They had a quiet lunch in the hotel room…both seemed to be occupied with their thoughts. Sherlock in particular, seemed to be thinking very seriously about something.

When they were done and lunch was cleared, Sherlock drew John to the bed and made him sit down. He took his hands and kissed them lightly.

John smiled. "What is it then?" he said.

It was clear that Sherlock wanted to say something.

"I love you, John." Sherlock said with a small, shy smile. "You know that of course, but it seems I want to keep telling you."

"I want to keep hearing it, so we're good." John said and waited.

It was clear that there was more to come. "I've wanted to do this for a while, but somehow it never seemed like the right time…I…" he sighed and shook his head like he was looking for the right words.

"I don't think you know just how wonderful you are…I...I was so lonely. You came into my life and gave me…everything…I don't think I can ever make you understand just how grateful I am...But I have one more thing to ask of you, my love. Will you marry me? I would dearly love to call you my husband."

...

And so it was that when John walked into the auditorium with Sherlock that evening, he was dragged all over the place and introduced to everyone as "my fiancé".

Sherlock gave what he would long consider his best performance that night. He was on stage in an auditorium full of people, but he only played for one of them...one that he would forever consider his miracle.

 


	18. Chapter 18

John sat in the wings watching his partner dazzle the audience. Sherlock was always brilliant, but he out did himself that night. It was the first time that John had seen him on stage since they'd got together and he was quite blown away.

Sherlock walked on to the stage like he owned it. He stood there, in front of a whole orchestra and made it impossible to look at anyone but him. John found himself wondering for the millionth time how he of all people, had ended up with Sherlock.

He felt the ring on his finger and smiled…he was still getting used to it. Sherlock had surprised him…John hadn't expected it at all.

But here he was, engaged to be married…to a man. And he was not even gay. He'd just quit his job...given up on being a doctor (something that had meant the world to him once) just so Sherlock and he could be together…He was willing (at 33) to give up everything he knew and try something different.

Sherlock had walked into his life and turned it upside down and inside out. And it felt good. It felt very good.

John had no idea what he was going to do with his life now…it was a bit scary, the not knowing, but it was freeing as well. His biggest priority at the moment was Sherlock. The last few months had been hard on them both. John had struggled to cope with the aching loneliness every time Sherlock left.

Sherlock had not been able deal with it. John still felt guilty about that…he had known how depressed Sherlock was getting. He had been afraid that he might turn to drugs again...but he hadn't done anything about it...Well, he was here now and he would see to it that Sherlock never had a reason to be depressed again.

The performance was over. Sherlock took a bow. The audience were on their feet, clapping and cheering. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock was happy to be where he was, doing what he did. He turned to look at John standing in the wings…he was clapping too. And he had the biggest smile on his face.

Sherlock found himself wondering for the millionth time how he of all people, had got so very lucky. He knew that John loved him, but the man had spent the last couple of days showing him exactly how much and how deep that love was, and how far he was willing to go to make him happy.

Sherlock was beyond grateful.  _I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to him,_  he thought as he walked off the stage, into the wings and drew his partner into a kiss.

… **..**

**One year later**

**From the blog of John Watson**

I woke up today and realised that I have a very special anniversary to celebrate…one year ago today, Sherlock asked me to marry him. That was also the day I quit my job as a doctor. I was sitting alone in the hotel room that morning chatting with Harry.

"You should start a blog." She said. "You're going to be travelling around the world with a man who is famous, notorious even. He doesn't give interviews. Nobody knows much about him...And you're his partner. I think a lot of people would be interested."

And so, thanks to my sister, this blog was born. I had never done any kind of writing before, but I found that I really enjoyed it. And it was so much fun to record all of the things that we were doing...the people we met, the places we went to.

I hoped that this blog would find a few readers. I certainly didn't expect the kind of popularity that it has somehow achieved. Sherlock claims that he doesn't like my blog...he says I romanticise him..."You make me seem like a character in a book," he says.

But that doesn't stop him from reading everything I write and commenting on, analysing and annotating every piece. My big news today is that a few days ago I was offered a book deal...totally out of the blue.

I have a gift for travel writing apparently...at least that's what my new editor thinks. So I'm going to be writing a travel book.

I confess I am amazed at the way my life has turned out. The best part of it though, is that I'm married to the most beautiful, amazing, talented and brilliant man in the world. I know that is a lot of adjectives, but this is me being restrained, actually. I could throw a whole thesaurus at you when it comes to talking about my man...I can't help myself. You see, I'm quite besottedly in love.

**200 Comments**

**...**

"Beautiful, amazing, talented and brilliant"...really, John, don't you think that is a bit too much? You do romanticise me, you make me seem better than I am. You never tell your readers how special you are. So I'm going to do it.

Dear reader,

My John is a wonderful man. He's intelligent, witty, charming and very handsome. He is a man of many talents. He used to be in the army, he was a surgeon, he plays the violin and now he has taken up writing, quite successfully I might add. So if there is anyone who is amazing here, it is John. He is also a good man. A caring husband who does not hesitate to give everything that he has to give. I am incredibly lucky to have him.

Sherlock Holmes

**...**

"Intelligent, witty, charming and very handsome"...And you think I'm the one who goes overboard when I talk about you. Pots and kettles, love.

John Watson

**...**

**Finis**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. Journey over. If you've read this far, please take a moment to tell me what you think. I've had a lot of fun writing this story and I want to thank all of you who've read this story and commented on it.


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